


migratory

by englishsummerrain



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Adventurer Jaemin, Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, Fantasy, Fluff with a dash of angst, M/M, Wizard Hyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22679605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englishsummerrain/pseuds/englishsummerrain
Summary: Like the turn of the seasons he always returns to Donghyuck’s door.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 54





	migratory

**Author's Note:**

> just something cute and fun bc i miss playing dnd and the idea of jaemin as someone's character amuses me. enjoy~

Linx jumps onto the counter with a chitter, her ears perked up at the sound of the door of Donghyuck’s house swinging shut. The ornaments on the frame rattle and the stained glass shakes above, sunbeams of azure and cerulean filtering through the points of Mystra’s star. Donghyuck yawns widely and slumps down in his chair a little more, holding out his hand for his familiar to bound across the hardwood countertops, her paws light as feathers where they dance through the potions filled to the brim and bags of magical components.

“Long day,” he murmurs. Linx bunts her head against his knuckles in reply and then leaps into his lap, as if it’s already time for them to shut up shop and retire. 

It’s not. It’s mid afternoon and though technically Donghyuck can close the shop whenever he wants, most of the time he chooses to stay open at least until near sundown — though unofficially he’ll generally get off his ass for anyone who knocks past then. He knows most of the townsfolk, and if someone thinks it’s worth disturbing him that late then it's worth him getting up.

Today though. There's a buzz in the air. Something he can feel. Linx gives him a quizzical look and he hears her voice — a rather upper class northern accent — echo in his head.

_Your friend is back._

Donghyuck goes to ask, but the door swings open before he can, and standing there — one long Blinkhawk feather stuck in the brim of his hat, grin that could sell snow to a polar bear, leather boots up to his knees and tunic dusted with dirt and what looks like crushed quartz, or perhaps just glitter — is Na Jaemin.

"It's been a year!" he says, arms open, striding back into Donghyuck's world with ease. "Love what you've done with the place!"

Despite the irregular nature of his visits, Jaemin is a permanent fixture in the story of Donghyuck’s life. Sometimes he comes for less than a day, sometimes it’s a full week — but like the turn of the seasons he always returns to Donghyuck’s door. 

“Did you miss me?” Jaemin asks, his smile like the summer sun. Linx lets out a betraying meow and Donghyuck blushes, scratching at the back of his neck and trying to return an ounce of the warmth Jaemin has offered him.

“Of course,” Donghyuck says. It’s not a lie. He loves the stories of the outside world — loves hearing about Jaemin’s adventurer’s life. It’s not a path he’d choose for himself, much too happy with the comforts of home, but to hear it come from another — to experience their joy — is the best thing in the world. 

And the fact that it’s Jaemin makes it even better.

  
  


*

  
  


Donghyuck does end up closing up before sundown — he lets Linx out on the roof and locks up the front door, setting his wards mostly out of force of habit rather than anything else. Donghyuck does the errands he's been putting off and Jaemin joins him along for the ride, acting ever the part of the charming stranger despite the fact that, by now, most of the townsfolk recognise him. In the square, busy with chatter from children watching harvest festival flags be hung up on the strings running across the rooftops, one of the stall owners recognises him, and they're embroiled in a long winded conversation about the one time Jaemin went to court — because of course that's what he's remembered for. Not even as a criminal, but as a witness for a prized cow hexed into a toad.

"It's not an interesting story," Jaemin says, before he proceeds to launch into the story anyway, slipping in a few embellishments that seem to become mandatory with each retelling.

"You know I'm surprised they didn't make you a minor lord for everything you did for them," Donghyuck says, as the cross the market square, setting sun on their shoulders, coin purses a little lighter.

Jaemin shrugs, no doubt tasting the sarcasm Donghyuck had laden through the sentence. "I wouldn't have taken it anyway. You know they can't pin me down, my dear."

Donghyuck strongly considers silencing him again, but thinks he might be too fond to actually go through with it. Jaemin is — despite his habit of bending the truth and his awful penchant for flirting with everything that moves — endearing. There’s a reason Donghyuck _does_ look forward to his returns, despite all the protest he may give otherwise.

They end up in The Dancing Mare, as is tradition, the low roofed tavern the busiest this side of town and one Donghyuck knows well and true. Tonight there's live music and they have to raise their voices to be heard over the pan flute — though the language of drinking needs no words, just the clatter of their tankards together and the wave of the hand that signals 'more mead!'

“I got this for you,” Jaemin says, partway through the night, when the tables are bustling and the hearth is roaring warm. It's always his thing — he always has to bring something back for Donghyuck. A two way mirror, a phoenix feather, some garment from a far off land, a book from a library Donghyuck has always wanted to visit. He flashes Donghyuck a brilliant smile as he opens his bag of holding, and reaches so deep he’s up to his shoulder before he finds what he’s looking for — pulls it out with a flourish.

It’s a smaller bag.

“You got me another bag of holding?” Donghyuck asks, dry. It's a long running joke at this point — after Jaemin had 'borrowed' Donghyuck’s bag and filled it with pastries, Donghyuck had done the same to Jaemin’s bag, cursing them to turn to water every time he tried to eat one. It had been a good year now since the last gift — Donghyuck was almost expecting to see a bag exotic and exorbitant, patterned with foreign runes or colours so gaudy they looked unreal.

“I’m not risking dimensional collapse,” Jaemin scoffs, untying the drawstrings. “Though I did look for one. No, I got you this. I know you already have a focus,” Jaemin begins, handing over the object to Donghyuck, “but I thought at least you could repurpose this one or something.”

The focus is as light as a feather, about as long as his fists stacked together and made of a worn golden material. A Heart of the Mountain is set in the hilt, a single black opal filled with fires which reveal themselves as he rotates it. The tip on the opposite end is forged into a loop and a spiderweb thin string is threaded through the eye, two feathers hanging from it. There’s a warmth to their surface, as if they’d been left in the summer sun for too long, and he thinks in the muted lighting of the inn he can see them glow like hot coals. The rest of the headpiece downwards is fashioned into the body of a great bird, its wings wrapped around the hilt and its head forming the pommel. Donghyuck holds it between his thumb and pointer finger and feels it hum, the latent power singing through the metal like some long forgotten war chant. 

“Where did you find this?” Donghyuck asks, suddenly worried he’s holding some cursed dwarven exile’s last possession.

Jaemin laughs nervously.

“The owner didn’t need it anymore. Or at least I hope he didn’t,” he says, looking somewhere over Donghyuck’s shoulder.

“You stole it from a grave?” Donghyuck says, making to rise from his chair and lifting his voice loud enough that a couple of patrons near them raise their eyebrows. He catches himself before his feet hit the floor, sits back down in his seat and hunches his shoulders. “Sorry,” he says, repeating himself at speaking level. “You stole it from a grave?”

“No, not at all,” Jaemin raises his hands defensively. “Not at all. I had express permission. Stealing implies I took it without permission, no. I asked the king and he said it was fine — and the ghost king too! He said it was fine. I just saw it and thought you might like it, it’s not stolen. It was completely free to be taken.” 

It all comes out in one long breath, Jaemin’s hands waving helplessly. Donghyuck sets the focus down on the counter and leaves the tip of his middle finger resting against it, feeling the energy arc and pulse through the metal.

“Completely free?” Donghyuck repeats. Jaemin nods.

“Of course. Would I ever give you stolen goods?”

“Yes,” Donghyuck says immediately. “The bag of gems you bought back three years ago.”

Jaemin’s mouth slams shut with an audible click and he stares at his drink for a long few seconds. “Well that was years ago,” he says quietly, “I’m a changed man.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Donghyuck laughs.

“You’re seeing it right now.”

The night winds on, filled with the glow of the hearth, the golden light that floods the tavern, languages mingling and the barkeep’s booming laugh melting into the music. A halfling gets to talking to Jaemin about tomb raiding, and Donghyuck just observes from the fringes — sees the ways Jaemin’s eyes light up, the way he starts talking with his hands, recounting thousand year old curses and almost being buried by avalanches in the sand, long days in the desert and watching the endless stars where they expanded like a breath in the lungs of a forge bellows, scattered embers against the blanket of black. 

Donghyuck leans his chin on his hand and smiles, drink warm in his stomach, the atmosphere swirling around him. Someone calls the halfling over and he excuses himself, tells Jaemin it was marvelous to talk to him.

Jaemin turns back to Donghyuck, a giddy smile on his face.

“Wasn’t he wonderful?” he says, draining the last of his tankard. “To think we almost would have met at Waterdeep — if I hadn’t left so early to follow that blasted barbarian, anyway. He was looking at that contract from the adventurer’s guild — the one for that sun relic. Do you remember that? I think I brought you back that book on dwarven magesmithing.”

“I remember,” Donghyuck says. He can’t stop smiling — Jaemin’s joy is infectious, and he feels it rise and bubble inside of him.

The band on the raised platform in the middle of the room has been steadily rising in volume as the night has trailed on, the three of them joined by a elf on a fiddle who seems to be having the time of her life, tapping her foot to the beat of the tambourine and deftly sliding her bow across the strings to tease out a beat as slippery as eels in the rivers. The bard, who had once been alone, is now center stage, the gold of her lute like a beacon for all the patrons to stand up and move with her, her voice sonorous and warm as honey.

“Have you had enough mead to dance?” Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck smiles and bows his head, lets Jaemin lead him by the hand from the bar like they’re a pair of nobles, not a back-end wizard and an adventurer with no real home. They take to the crowded dance floor, amongst halflings and humans alike, beside a dwarf with a beard full of beer foam carried on the shoulders of a half elf in a bright pink robe, where the music is brilliant and bright and the night falls away. 

They dance until their feet are sore, spill out of the tavern doors drunk and joyous. The moon is heavy and full in the sky and not a single breath of wind disturbs the pennants hanging from the surrounding stores. The sound of merriment filters through the open windows of the tavern and Donghyuck is warm. There’s good mead in his belly and a good friend at his side, and Jaemin twirls him like a drunken ballerina, laughing when Donghyuck collapses into him. It’s all the things he enjoys in life, and how can he not be happy? How can he not be happy stumbling home, the warmth of the focus Jaemin had given him radiating in his pocket. 

He dismisses his wards and unlocks the door of his home, and Linx comes bounding in after them. She winds around their feet, rubbing her face against their ankles until Jaemin picks her up and coos at her, telling her she’s the prettiest kitty alive. 

“Don’t say it too much. It’ll go to her head,” Donghyuck says.

“Don’t listen to him Linx,” Jaemin says, his voice gone full baby mode, slurred with alcohol. “He’s just jealous, isn’t he? Jealous because you’re so pretty.”

“Not as pretty as you,” Donghyuck says — and there it is. What he thinks all the time. What he can’t help. What after all these years and all these visits has always been true.

“I’m not a kitty cat,” Jaemin says, but in the silvery moonlight that spills through the stained glass windows, Donghyuck can see his smile. He lets Linx onto the counter and the two of them stand there, letting the night’s events settle down around them, readjusting to being in the same space again.

“I missed you so much.”

“Yeah,” Donghyuck says. It’s all he can. Week after week, month after month. All with no words. Not knowing whether Jaemin was alive or dead — not knowing if he’d come back again. How does he convey that in a way he hasn’t before? How can he say it without it seeming like he isn’t begging for Jaemin to stay with him. It’s unfair — they’ve never promised each other anything. They understand that this is how it is but — Donghyuck still wishes. “I missed you too. I always do. Every day.”

“Thought of you every day, too,” Jaemin says. His lips are pursed, a sad smile like he’s holding it in. Donghyuck crosses into his space and presses a soft kiss to his mouth, his hand lingering on his cheek when he draws back. It’s bittersweet, reminders that their time together is always ticking away. 

“I know,” Donghyuck says. “I know, I know.” He's still at a loss for words. He’s tried this a hundred times, but there’s no solution. There’s nothing he can say. No magic he can cast that will make Jaemin stay with him. It’s just how it is. “I wish it didn’t have to be,” he adds.

“It doesn’t,” Jaemin says. “You should come with me.”

And now it’s as it always will be. Pleas they both pretend are half hearted. Jaemin’s eyes like diamonds in the strange shadows. He smells of the road — a little dirt, a little sweat, sunshine baked into the threads of his tunic, leather scored with marks from dagger tips that came a little too close to his thundering heart. He’s beautiful and alive and he’s so close to Donghyuck — in more ways than one, wrapped up in his heart just like an incantation committed to memory. 

“Please Donghyuck,” he says. He takes Donghyuck’s hands in his, turns them over. “Just the once. Come to Baldur’s Gate. We could go Candlekeep — you have that tome, right? I’m sure they’d let you in.”

It’s unfair. It’s so unfair. Jaemin knows how badly Donghyuck wants to go to Candlekeep — how badly he wants to travel the Sword Coast. But he can’t leave. The adventurer’s life isn’t for him. He’d tried it once, almost would have lost his life were it not for a cleric with crescent eyes and the gentlest healer’s touch. He has a home here now, travels for knowledge on occasion, but never moves the way Jaemin does. Doesn’t need adrenaline in his veins. He’s safe here. Happy.

“You know I can’t,” Donghyuck says. “Jaemin, you know I can’t.”

“I know.”

Stillness. An owl hoots outside. Jaemin’s thumbs run across his palms and Donghyuck leans in, presses another kiss to his mouth and sighs.

“Let’s sleep,” he says. Jaemin nods, and there’s no protest. Not for now. He leaves his weapons at Donghyuck’s bedside — leaves his armour and his belongings, his daggers that sign with elven magic and the crossbow Donghyuck had enchanted for him years prior. Under the sheets he holds him close, and Donghyuck melts into him. Knows that no matter what, he’ll sleep sound tonight.

He dreams of Baldur’s Gate and the road south to Candlekeep — to the great castle on the cliffs and the surf breaking against his walls. He dreams of arcane knowledge and all the mysteries of the world — but mostly he dreams of Jaemin. Dreams of having him at his side, forever and ever and wonders if this will be the time one of them caves. That this won’t be goodbye for once.

He can’t predict the future — didn’t study that in University. He just knows whatever it is, Jaemin will always be there. It’s how he is — how they always will be. And in the morning when he wakes, golden light filtering through the curtains, Linx asleep at the foot of the bed and Jaemin’s sleepy murmurs in his ears — in the morning when he sits at the table and dips his bread in sweet honey and watches Jaemin give him a lazy smile, he wonders: now where did I put that tome again?

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [tweet tweet. ](https://twitter.com/dongrenle)


End file.
